


Groundrules

by Morgan (morgan32)



Series: Body And Soul [2]
Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M, Slash, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-06-14
Updated: 2004-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 02:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgan32/pseuds/Morgan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after: Angel explains what Doyle is getting into. Sequel to <em>This Is My Body</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Groundrules

The clank of the elevator woke Angel. Sunlight could not reach him in the windowless apartment but Angel felt it nonetheless: the oppressive weight of day. He had slept late; it must be near noon. Memories of the night before flooded back. Doyle still slept beside him, the heat of his body drawing forth a hunger in Angel once again.

If Doyle was here, the sound that woke Angel could be only one person. Cordelia. It probably wasn't a good idea to let her find them like this, Angel realised. He leaned over, waking Doyle with a kiss.

Doyle stirred and opened his eyes, smiling up at Angel. "Hey, man," he mumbled.

"Doyle, you need to get up now," Angel said hurriedly. He heard the elevator grind to a halt.

Doyle groaned. "Jus' give me a moment... " Then his eyes flew open as he, too, heard the creak of the elevator door.

Angel added, "If you're still hoping to make it with Cordelia..."

Doyle scrambled out of the bed and dashed into the bathroom, a route which fortunately kept him out of Cordelia's line of sight. Angel couldn't help smiling at the man's swift exit; Doyle could really move fast when he needed to. He gathered up Doyle's clothing, hastily discarded the night before, and carried them to the bathroom door, grabbing a towel as he did so. With the towel hanging around his neck, and still wearing the pants he'd slept in, Angel looked like he'd just finished exercising. He hoped. He walked casually out of the bedroom to meet Cordelia.

"What time do you call this?" she asked him, with a touch of irritability. "Are we running a business here, or..."

"Cordelia, my business hours tend to be at night," Angel pointed out reasonably. "Besides, I had a rough day yesterday."

"Does that mean we _all_ have to become nocturnal?" she asked. She opened the refrigerator, frowned at the contents and closed it again. "I can't find Doyle anywhere, either." She opened and closed a cupboard, then spotted the whiskey bottle on the table. "He was here last night!" she accused, pointing at the bottle. "Do you have any mineral water?"

"No." Angel glanced toward the bedroom guiltily. "Er...yes he was here. He...um..."

"Drank too much and passed out on the couch, I suppose?" Cordelia discovered the last of Angel's coffee and claimed it with a smile. "This will do. Oh, you have a visitor upstairs, by the way."

"Visitor?"

"Yeah. As in, potential _paying_ client. So I need you upstairs, like now."

That was the moment Doyle appeared. "Morning, Beautiful," he said to Cordelia. It was a nice display of nonchalant until he looked at the vampire. "Angel, um...thanks for..."

He was gorgeous when he was nervous, Angel noticed. He pulled the towel from his neck, deliberately giving them both a good view of his upper body. "Cordelia, can you stall whoever it is for five minutes," he begged. "I _really_ need to take a shower."

"Why? You look great." Cordelia deliberately stared. At Angel's look she sighed dramatically. "Alright, already! I'll stall. Five minutes." She turned and swept back into the elevator. "Coming, Doyle?"

"Ah...yeah." He glanced at Angel as they passed each other - a lingering look. The last thing Angel heard as the elevator began its clanking ascent was Cordelia's voice:

"You look like you slept in your clothes again."

And Doyle's stammered reply, "Well...you know...late night."

The shower was ice-cold, and Angel took a lot longer than five minutes.

*

Cordelia's "potential client" turned out to be the owner of a lost kitten. Her look promised dire consequences for Angel if he dared to turn down paid work, so he took what details he could (small, orange, fluffball, answers - or not - to the name "Poopsie") and agreed to take a look around. Other than that, it was a quiet afternoon.

Angel was winding the antique clock he kept on his desk when Doyle walked in and closed the door firmly behind him. Angel finished what he was doing, then looked up at Doyle. For a moment, they just gazed at each other.

"Not to blow this all up out of proportion," Doyle began, "but would you mind telling me what the hell happened last night?"

It was almost a challenge. Angel sighed. "It feels like that should be my question. Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?"

"I think I have, yeah."

"If you did ... " Angel objected.

Doyle interrupted, "Yes, I would." Angel frowned and Doyle went on. "You were about to say that if I understood the danger I wouldn't have done it." He followed Angel's gaze to the outer office. "She's gone out for milk and cookies."

So they were alone. Angel rose and walked around the desk to stand close to Doyle. "What happened last night," he said, "is we started something. Something we both know is probably a bad idea." The vampire's tone was gentle, belying the harshness of his words. He opened his arms to Doyle and leaned forward to kiss him. He felt Doyle resist for about a second, then he relaxed in Angel's arms. The kiss deepened. It was a long time before Angel broke away, and he only did so then because he knew Doyle needed to breathe.

The vampire's lips travelled slowly along the line of Doyle's jaw. His breathing ragged, Doyle instinctively arched into the light kisses. His head fell back, exposing his neck. Angel's lips moved on to the pale skin of Doyle's neck, where Doyle's blood pulsed a little faster than normal beneath the skin. His fingers pulled Doyle's shirt open a little, exposing more flesh. "I won't bite," he murmured, before closing his lips over that throbbing vein, sucking gently and lightly bruising the flesh.

Doyle's breath left his body in a sigh. He relaxed in Angel's arms, leaving Angel to support his weight. In the places where their bodies touched Angel felt Doyle's blood rushing through his heart, through is veins, beneath Angel's gently suckling lips. He could almost taste it, the copper and salt, the heat of life filling him... He did not bite.

When he raised his head Angel had to hold Doyle's body against his own or the man would have fallen. It was a vampire's gift, that charisma, a hypnotic quality that made the kill so much easier. Angel ran his thumb over Doyle's kiss-bruised lips. "You're an idiot, Doyle," he said harshly.

The words broke Doyle's trance and he backed off a little. "I trust you," he said.

"Well, you shouldn't! Offering your neck to a vampire ... are you suicidal?"

Doyle shook his head. "I offered you a lot more last night."

"And you have _no_ idea how close I came to draining you!" Angel regretted the words as soon as they were spoken, but it was too late to take them back.

Doyle went white as the implications of that sank in. "Y-you did?" He backed away from Angel.

Ashamed that he had frightened the man, even though that had been his intention, Angel spoke more softly this time. "You don't know what it is to be a vampire, Doyle. Blood isn't just food. It's an addiction. You saw what happened when I kissed you last night. And later, when we were...I could feel every beat of your pulse, Doyle. And here's news for you: I don't only drink from the neck."

Doyle swallowed, hard. "Okay, man. I get the picture. I won't bother you again." He turned away from Angel. He moved slowly, obviously unhappy. He began to open the door then turned back. "You could have pushed me away last night, you know." He lifted disappointed eyes to meet Angel's.

Angel met that unwavering gaze and his own courage faltered. "No. I couldn't."

Doyle's hand rested on the door handle, but he didn't open the door yet. "Tell me you want me to walk away now."

It was Angel's turn to swallow, while Doyle's clear-eyed gaze dared him to lie. "I can't," he confessed. He hadn't meant to do that.

Doyle let go of the door and walked back to stand before Angel again. Once more he looked up at the vampire, but it wasn't passion lighting his eyes now. It was anger. Firmly he said, "You do that to me again, and I'll stake you."

Angel, knowing better than to take that as a joke, simply said, "Deal." He moved away then, sitting down at his desk. It placed the desk as a barrier between them, diffusing some of the tension and giving Angel the distance he needed.

"What is it?" Doyle asked him, clearly recognising the gesture.

"You need to know what you're getting into."

"I think I already do."

"No. You just proved you don't." Angel leaned back in his chair, remembering. Remembering the night just past, and Doyle's words:

_"You're just like Cordy - you've both got this idea in your heads that getting your rocks off is what turned you evil. You're both wrong."_

_Angel drained the mug and set it down. "I know it's not that simple. Are you really willing to take that risk?" His own resistance was weakening fast. Dangerously fast._

_"Angel, I'm **desperate** to take that risk."_

"You don't know what I'm capable of," he told Doyle. To his credit, Doyle didn't argue with him this time. Angel closed his eyes briefly, remembering the last man who had come willingly to his bed. Not long ago, as a vampire measures time.

His first interest in Giles had been completely detached: he only wanted to know more about the man who was so close to Buffy. A man who would be able to do more than any other to influence her. So he'd begun to seek the man out, watching from the shadows of the library, and finally making his presence known one night. Angel had quickly learned more about him than Buffy and her friends were likely to know. Not facts - feelings. The studious and apparently withdrawn librarian had some demons in his past. Angel could relate to that and it gave them a connection. Real or imagined, any connection with someone living was a rare and precious thing to Angel.

Later, he had learned another thing about Rupert Giles, and the relationship between them that followed was a part of that thing. Neither vampire nor watcher tried to fool themselves they were in love. Theirs was a friendship of sorts, founded on a common purpose, and a sexual relationship based on complementary needs. Giles respected Angel, but never once forgot what he was. And they both knew Angel's heart lay elsewhere.

Nevertheless, they became close. It was impossible to share what they had shared and not be otherwise. When Giles began his relationship with Jenny Calendar, Angel hadn't been jealous at all: he had been happy for his friend. The sexual part of their relationship ended without pain, though with a little regret, and their friendship had remained.

Until ...

Until Angel lost the part of himself that knew how to feel love and friendship and respect. He knew jealousy then, and fury that Giles would turn from him to such an insipid female. He had set out to hurt Giles, as much as he set out to hurt Buffy. He had succeeded.

Then came the plan to wake the demon Acathla, which would destroy the world. When the first ritual failed, Angel realised he once again needed his old friend. Anticipation was exquisite. And when he finally had Giles in his power... (_Last time I tortured someone, they didn't even **have** chainsaws_.)

"You raped him," Doyle said flatly. His pale blue eyes showed weariness and pain.

Angel nodded, but that felt like a lie. "Rape was just the appetiser, Doyle. I used what I knew, what we once had. I tortured him in every way I could, for hours. And if Buffy hadn't stopped me, I would have made him into a vampire when I was done and sent him back to her. Just because I could."

"And the point of this story is ...?"

"You said last night it wasn't just having sex that turned me. I'm not an idiot, Doyle. I know you're right. No matter how hard I try, though, I don't have a sure answer to what the real cause was. All I have is a guess." He hesitated; Doyle was silent. "All I ever did with Giles was fuck around. He was my friend, but when we were together that way, he always kept barriers between us, mentally. Buffy...she didn't even know how to do that. She gave all of herself and so did I and that one time we were together..."

"You forgot what you are."

"Yes. That's why this...you and me...scares me, Doyle. You don't have any more barriers than she did and you trust me too much. It could kill you. Or worse."

"You might be right," Doyle admitted. "But walking away will kill me even sooner."

"You really feel that way?"

"Can't you tell?"

Angel moved around the desk again. He leaned down to kiss Doyle. "So maybe we should talk groundrules."

"Oh, wonderful. Just love more rules ... " Doyle began with a crooked grin.

At that moment, they both heard the door slam, announcing Cordelia's entrance. They sprang apart so fast Doyle's chair overbalanced. Stifling a smile, Angel bent down to help him up, only to see Doyle's face contorted with sudden pain. "Doyle! Did you hurt yourself?"

A sharp gesture was Doyle's only reply, and belatedly Angel realised he had seen this before. He knelt on the floor to support his lover as the vision took over.

As it turned out, they never did manage to finish that conversation.


End file.
